


Inheritance

by patricia_von_arundel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Pre-Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patricia_von_arundel/pseuds/patricia_von_arundel
Summary: As a child, Ferdinand knew his place. But just before his time at the Officer's Academy, one particularly dark secret awakens in him doubts - doubts about what he has been told, and who he is meant to be.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece set in an AU, hence Edelgard's place in the family. The AU will explore her relationship with her family generally (including Dimitri). Thus, liberties may be taken with certain relationships and events. 
> 
> The idea came from the way Ferdinand introduced himself - as "legitimate." It made me wonder about Edelgard's own legitimacy...

While his father met with the imperial council, Ferdinand was allowed to play with the emperor's sons. He knew it was quite the honor; of all the noble families, only the prime minister's son was afforded such courtesy - his father's words, repeated each time they traveled to the palace at the center of Enbarr. 

Ferdinand was fond of the princes, and not just because he was expected to be. The three were a bit older than him - there were others older still, but perhaps they were too old for play? - and the very portraits of nobility: polite, well-spoken, chivalrous in defeat in the games that they played. Sometimes the two littlest of their siblings - a sister of perhaps five or six; a brother still only toddling - wandered out, away from their mothers and nursemaids, and the princes stopped their boisterous shouting and tumbling for more gentle fun: rolling balls across the grass to be kicked, or galloping about with the little ones on their shoulders. _Faster, horsie, faster!_ It was all very different from Ferdinand's own, smaller family. 

The year he was eight, the meetings became much more frequent - and much longer. Something was going on - the other nobles came to speak to his father, or his father left with them, returning late in the night - but Ferdinand knew better than to ask what it was. Common children might pepper their elders and betters with questions, lacking the decorum to know any better, but a noble child knew they would be told what they needed to know, when they needed to know it. 

What Ferdinand found most curious was the change in the princes - did _they_ know what was happening? Where they had always in the past come out almost before the carriages had come to a halt, they now often came later, or were called in early - or, a few times, made no appearance at all. When they were out, they played with Ferdinand, as they always had, but there was a subdued dutifulness to it. The youngest of the royal children no longer snuck out. 

He wanted to ask. He knew he should not. 

Then, perhaps, the strangest incident of all - it was a chilly, overcast late spring morning, and he was offered a place in the front parlor, inside and warmed by the fireplace, but he made polite refusal. They always played in the same courtyard, near the servants' quarters and the kitchens, and he wanted the princes to be able to find him. He walked alone, arms crossed to tuck cold hands beneath them. 

The princes weren't there. 

But someone else was.

Someone he had never seen before. 

A girl. Too old to be the littlest sister, even as scrawny as she was. Her back was to him - she seemed to be staring at nothing in particular, one hand fingering idly at a ribbon in her brown hair. _Mousy_ \- a word he had seen in stories, and suddenly he understood just what was meant by it. 

It wouldn't do to frighten her, of course, so he remained where he was to say, "Excuse me?"

But even that was enough to make her whip around, her eyes locking with his. He had never seen eyes like hers: sharp, bright lavender. And distrustful - deeply distrustful. She stared at him with an intensity far greater than seemed possible to contain in such a tiny creature. 

He used a bow as an excuse to escape that stare. "I do not believe we have met, my lady. I am Ferdinand von Ae-"

"I know who you are. The prime minister's heir. I've seen you playing with my brothers."

He rose, startled. "Your... brothers?" She looked and sounded about the same age as he was, but he had never heard of a Hresvelg princess of that age. Five children of the emperor's first wife, five of concubines, including the two youngest, born several years after the princes. There were other girls, but Ferdinand had believed them all older - teenagers, or even of an age to be married soon. 

So who was this?

As if reading his mind, the girl stood a little straighter, tossing one tail of hair back over her shoulder with a shake of her head. "I am Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg, ninth child of my father."

"You are-"

But Ferdinand was interrupted by a derisory laugh. " _Princess?_ At your fantasies again, Edelgard?"

He had thought the intensity of her gaze hard to believe - but it grew even harder, stiff and fixed, as the princes (her brothers?) came to stand around Ferdinand. 

One of them clapped him on the shoulder, making him jump. "Is she bothering you?"

"No!" Spoken too hastily - for an instant, he had forgotten himself. "No, not at all. We were... simply introducing ourselves."

"Perhaps _you_ were. _She_ was telling her usual little fairytale."

Her brows drew down. "It isn't a fairytale. Father says-"

"Father says a lot. But we all know what's about to happen to _him._ You really think anyone else cares about some bastard whelp whose own mother ran off and abandoned her?"

For just a moment, the mask slipped, and Ferdinand could see something much more vulnerable in those sharp eyes. 

Then it was gone again. She put her fists on her hips. "Uncle cares," she said. 

That earned more laughter. "That's even worse. You're a _threat_ , little El. You think any of them will let Lord Arundel hold that kind of power, and you're even more vapid than you appear."

" _You_ don't know."

"Neither do you. Now go back inside before I tell that you were sneaking outside again. Your creature is stalking all over looking for you. He'll curdle all the milk and curse the staff."

"Don't _call_ him that." But she stalked off towards the palace, head held high, looking at none of them and never glancing back. 

When she was gone, as if on cue, the princes burst into laughter. But there was a jagged edge to it, none of the easy humor Ferdinand had always known from them. 

But he had also never heard them speak to anyone as they just had - with such jaded, nasty cruelty. To their own sister. He thought of the little ones, laughing on their shoulders. _That_ was what a noble was meant to be, surely? Kind to those younger, smaller, weaker - no matter the cause of that weakness?

And...

_Why has no one spoken of her? Ever?_

"You look pensive, Ferdinand. Are you certain she was not bothering you?"

He shook his head, forced himself to look at them and smile. "No, no, not at all."

"Don't worry about her." They exchanged glances Ferdinand could not understand. "She thinks herself Father's pet, but... well, truly, Edelgard is just one more of his many mistakes."

* * *

The sun was setting as the carriage rolled through the city gates, heading northeast on the long journey back to the Aegir estate, the coachman's lantern already lit. Its swinging sent darting shadows into the interior, where Ferdinand had once more tucked his hands away in futile attempt to warm them. He knew better than to voice complaint. 

He still could not stop thinking of it - the princess (was she?) he had never seen nor heard of, and how the princes' usual courtly demeanor had fallen away like unstrapped armor. The girl had said nothing untoward. She was younger. What could have happened to cause such viciousness towards her? Such ignoble, cutting words?

Finally, he risked meeting anger of his own: "Father?"

His father, thankfully, sounded only mildly irritated when he said, "Yes, Ferdinand?"

"There was..." He hesitated - he should have considered how to ask before he spoke, but it was too late now. "There was a girl - she said she was one of the princesses, but... I had never seen her before."

He could not see his father's eyes in the darkness, but seemed nonetheless to feel his gaze. "So you met Edelgard."

"Yes."

A moment of silence - then his father sighed. "His Majesty seems to have less control over that little problem by the day."

"But... why is she a problem?"

"For reasons you needn't concern yourself with, Ferdinand."

He knew what that meant, of course - _leave the subject alone_. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. Something about it all felt so _wrong_. "Her brothers were not very courteous to her."

"Also none of your concern."

He wanted to argue that it _was_ , but doing so would be futile - and might well lead to greater unpleasantness when they arrived home. He wanted to ask what would happen to her - to all of them. Something _was_ going to happen, and it seemed certain it would be nothing good. 

But all he said was, "Yes, Father."

Noble children obeyed their parents. 

* * *

It was several years before he saw her again. Something _had_ happened. Many somethings. _None_ of them good. 

_Accidents_ , his father said. 

Accidents. 

Certainly not. Ferdinand was no longer a child, blindly accepting the words of his elders. 

But whatever had truly happened, the fact remained: they were all gone. 

All but one. 

He stood with his father in the cavernous room, waiting. Others trickled in - minor nobles and a few bold commoners remaining to the rear, but the true reigning powers of the Empire were closer to the throne: a clear but silent message if ever there was one. Marquis Vestra made his way to Ferdinand and his father, immediately leaning to murmur something Ferdinand could not make out. Hubert was with him - pale and silent as he had always been on the rare occasions Ferdinand had seen him, but there were strange spots of red in his cheeks, and his father's hands were gripping his shoulders with white-knuckled force. 

Still, Ferdinand made an attempt: "Hello, Hubert."

He received only a glance in reply, then Hubert's chilly eyes were once more riveted on the throne. 

Representatives of the church came out first, taking their places. It was curiously quiet - no heralds, no horns. Something of that gave it all an air of cold desperation. But wasn't that truly the case? Ten royal children lost in the space of a year - of course they were desperate. So many "accidents." Too many. A true tragedy. 

Part of the tragedy - next came the emperor's wives. Only two still lived - Ferdinand had heard servants gossiping about the youngest of them, the mother of the little princess and prince who had once snuck out to play with their elder brothers. The servants said she had poisoned herself after the loss of her children. Ferdinand did not know the truth of her death - but she was among the lost. The others now wore the black and lace of mourning, veils leaving them faceless, making silent way to their own places in the dais. 

The emperor came in leaning heavily on the arm of a servant, visibly limping, his eyes downcast. There were rumors of him, too - too many for Ferdinand to even try to remember them all. But the kind, lively man he remembered once greeting him at holidays and festivals was clearly gone - he was elderly now far beyond his years, deep lines etched into his face, dark hair streaked with grey. When he took his place next to the throne, Ferdinand could see the sharp tremor in his hands. 

It was all somehow ghoulish, macabre - like a stage play intended only for shock and titillation. _Farcical_. Ferdinand shifted, uncomfortable. He tried to ignore it - one day, he would be prime minister, and the ruling of an empire was not always clean and neat... nor easy to stomach. 

Still, there was no way to prepare himself for the sight of her. 

Lord Arundel emerged, and behind him, a younger man in robes. And carried in his arms...

She had grown, thought not much - that scrawniness given way to a shocking fragility. Despite long sleeves and skirt, gloves on her hands, the skeletal state of her limbs was evident. She seemed all but unconscious, limp, her head fallen back, lips parted, eyes closed. Her skin was pale, almost grey. 

And her hair...

Her hair was paler still. 

Brown. It had been brown. She'd had ribbons in it. He remembered how she'd absently played with one. 

Beside him, Hubert made a strange, choked little noise. But Ferdinand couldn't draw his eyes away to look at him. 

_Accidents._

She hardly moved when placed on the throne - except for a clear, deep grimace across the sharp planes of her face. She slumped like a ragdoll, but when the man in robes put her hands on the arms of the throne, those stick-like fingers grasped almost desperately. 

Words were spoken - by the church officials, by the emperor - but Ferdinand hardly heard them. Affirmations by the nobility, including his father, that they accepted Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg as legitimate heir to her father's throne. Prayers. Ferdinand could focus on nothing but the broken, skeletal body before them. Her breathing was shallow. Her legs dangled - her feet didn't reach the floor. Pale face, white hair, cream-colored dress: she was like an apparition. Something already long dead. 

His attention was broken only when the first objection was raised. Rather than offer assent, Count Hevring said, "What guaranty do we have that she will survive?"

It was Lord Arundel who responded - the first time he had spoken. "Edelgard fell ill almost a year ago - as you well know, Count. Her road to full recovery will be a long one, yes, but she has begun the journey, and has shown no indication of relapse. The physicians are considering offering solid foods again. She can once more walk. She grows stronger by the day. Just as... just as we had hoped."

Something in the words, the tone - Ferdinand did not like it. He looked once more to the slumped figure on the throne. 

Her eyes were open. 

The rest of her might look broken, but those eyes - he remembered those eyes. The sharpness. The distrust. 

They remained. 

She seemed to be scanning the room as the last of the affirmations were given - Count Hevring, then Count Varley. Staring at the ceiling high above the audience as the assent of the church was given and a final prayer spoken over her, asking the Goddess to heal her and keep her safe. 

The final assent was her own. The emperor's voice now shook almost as much as his hands. "Under the eyes of the Goddess and the gathered, do you, Edelgard von Hresvelg, accept-"

She brought her head up - the first sign she had shown of any physical strength at all - and spoke one word, her voice a shock of authority and determination: "No."

The emperor looked flabbergasted, uncertain, but Lord Arundel stepped back with not hesitation. "Bring her," he said to the man in robes. She was gathered up, and they disappeared once more to the corridor beyond the throne room. 

Ferdinand could keep quiet no longer - and he wasn't the only one; the room was abuzz now, whispers and murmured confusion. "Father, what are they-"

But his voice was drowned by the desperate shriek of pain - guttural and long. 

Another. 

Then the only sound was Hubert - he was fighting his father's grip, struggling and twisting and as wide-eyed as Ferdinand had ever seen him. "Release me! This is your doing. _Yours!_ "

His father jerked him back, hissing the words, but Ferdinand had no difficulty hearing them - nor, probably, did many others in the shocked silence. "Stop that! If you want her safe, keep _still_."

Hubert stopped struggling, breathing hard, staring once more straight ahead - but the hands remained locked on his shoulders. On the dais, the emperor was visibly trembling, and one of the wives appeared to be weeping, beneath her veil, her shoulders shaking with rhythmic helplessness. Edelgard's mother? The princes had said she abandoned Edelgard, but perhaps she had returned?

Ferdinand felt more than a little like weeping himself, though of course he would not. His heart was galloping. What had _happened_ here? He knew what his father had been part of - but this felt far darker than what he had learned of that. And... _Accidents_. 

None of this spoke of accidents - nor of long illness. He glanced again at Hubert. Did he know the truth?

Would he tell, if he did?

When Arundel and Edelgard returned, her eyes were closed once more - but her body was tense, and on the throne, she hunched her narrow shoulders, turned her face away. Still defiant? It was hard to say, but nonetheless, Ferdinand had suspicion that it was so. 

But when Arundel pointedly cleared his throat, she spoke once more - though her voice was noticeably more subdued: "I affirm my position as heir." Ferdinand could see her forehead wrinkle, brows drawing down. 

After that, it was simply a matter of final formalities.

When they once more carried Edelgard out, she seemed to have fallen asleep. Ferdinand watched - until sudden movement beside him caught his eye. 

His father and Marquis Vestra were once more in murmured conversation, and Hubert had taken the opportunity to finally make his escape. He was pushing through the milling crowd as if hardly aware it was there. 

Ferdinand hesitated - glanced back at his father - and then followed. 

The interior hallways were dark and quiet, inadequate lamps casting Hubert into long, stalking shadows. He seemed to know the palace well - that was curious. Ferdinand had come here often, and even he was soon uncertain of where they were. 

But he was correct in his suspicions of where they were going. 

He held back when Hubert put his hands on the doorframe and bowed his head. "Lady Edelgard, are you well?"

The voice from inside sounded tired: "I'm fine, Hubert."

"That monster didn't-"

"I don't wish to talk about him."

He nodded. "As you say."

"It has become even more pressing, as you know, that we discuss the journey. I assure you, I _am_ strong enough. And -"

"My apologies - but hold, Lady Edelgard. We are not alone." When Hubert turned, he was smiling - a cold, thin smile. "Did your _esteemed_ father never warn you of the dangers of eavesdropping, Ferdinand? I had heard rumors he made certain his eldest son inherited the family propensity to carry large sticks shoved deep into one's nether regions, but such uncouth behavior speaks otherwise."

He could not exactly deny eavesdropping, but that smile was surely a challenge. "Clearly _your_ father bothered teaching no manners at all, though perhaps that should not surprise me. I was merely concerned about the princess, especially in light of her... illness." Hubert quite clearly knew the truth of the matter - the _whole_ of the truth - but the odds of him speaking it now would be close to naught. There was no reason not to be blunt. 

"I would advise you-"

"Ferdinand." The command in her voice had returned. "Please come in."

He did as he was bid - of course. Mysterious as these circumstances might be, she remained an imperial princess, and was now the emperor's heir to boot. 

She was propped up in bed, still wearing the white clothing of the ceremony - including, he could not help but notice, the gloves. Perhaps she chilled easily, in such a state? Up close, her condition was somehow even more shocking: the grey skin; the dark, swollen crescents beneath her eyes. She looked half a corpse, and far older than her likely years. 

Still, of course, it would not do to stare. He swept an arm up and bowed deeply. "Princess Edelgard. i was most saddened to hear news of your ill health. If there is anything I might do to assist, I-"

"There is not."

He looked up again, startled by the harshness in her tone. Her eyes, meeting his, were cold and flat. 

From the doorway, Hubert made a noise that was almost a chuckle.

"We've met before," Edelgard said. 

"I remember it well." Perhaps she was offering a chance at reparation, despite the chilly haughtiness in her expression? "It is lovely to see you once more."

"Is it?" With slow, careful movement, she folded one gloved hand over the other, the white fabric stark against the deep red of her blanket. "Why were you attempting to eavesdrop?"

He hesitated - then spoke the truth: "There is more going on than my father has told me, is there not? If I may be frank, your condition-"

"You may _not_. My 'condition' is none of your concern. Tell me, Ferdinand, if you remember it so well - what did you say in my aid, that day on which we last met?"

"I..." He felt the shame and confusion of it now, just as he had felt it back then. "I fear I said nothing. That was... most unchivalrous. My deepest apologies, your highness."

Nothing softened in her expression - nothing at all. She might have been wearing a mask. "There may come a day when you must again decide whether to assist... or to remain silent. Trust must be _earned_ , and as yet, you have done nothing to prove yourself to me. I have doubts that you ever will. For now, take your leave. Immediately."

The carriage ride home on his night was silent. Ferdinand turned the curious events over and over in his mind, but too many pieces were missing to see the picture that the puzzle might become. Still - as heir to his father, he had a _duty_ to understand the workings of the empire... and the imperial palace. It was not mere curiosity. 

He would find the missing pieces. And he _would_ prove himself. 

...Somehow. 


End file.
